From Rhyme Crime Laboratories

And now for some holiday travel heroic couplets that fall a little short…
The Roving Detective Returns to the Scene at Midnight
The sock, which at dawn, was wrung
within inch of damp, was hung
yet at day’s end of “drying”
is wetter off, dead sopping.
Holmes, what do you make of it?
The spout from which it hung — a drip!
From it slow wicked a wicked
tomorrow. Some shoe-squelched tread
Or a baring that slips on its
own sweat and steam, footwear pits,
as sock rides in mesh, in air,
with backpack cum rickshaw flair.

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